Before I start this story I want to say that this is my 600th blog post. Good grief! That's like writing 600 assignments but no one is telling me to do it. Baffling. Anyway, I'm telling you this because I am a bit worried that perhaps I've blogged the following story before. However, I didn't get it to pop up with any of the labels I could think of to search. I'm much too lazy to go back and plow through 600 posts to look for it. My hope is that I've not told the story before or that if I have, you won't remember it either. If those hopes fall through, I then hope you'll forgive the repeat.
OK, onward...
I'm also blocking out the times we stood at the window watching for clouds when we desperately needed rain. I'm also blocking out the times we stood at the same window watching a big storm approach, praying it wouldn't hail and ruin the wheat just before it was ready for harvest.
What I do remember are the days of working alongside Mike. The winter afternoons we had time to play cribbage or other games. I remember lots of time to sew, crochet or bake. I remember Mike upstairs singing and playing his guitar. I remember quiet nights and bright stars, sometimes even Northern Lights. I remember bringing home our first baby to a community who remembered her great grandmother. I had friends that I expected to know for a lifetime. What I'm saying is, I loved our life there. We both did.
The day of the big shocker is still pretty clear in my mind. Maria, our first baby, was just two months old. I'd taken her with me that morning as I was helping out at our church with Vacation Bible School. After VBS I remember talking with my friend, Valerie. I really liked her and confided in her how happy I was to be living on Mike's family farm. I felt I belonged. I told her I wanted to DIG MY ROOTS 100 FEET DEEP. Yep, that's what I said.
Later that day, or maybe it was evening, Mike wanted to talk. I didn't have any premonition of change. I didn't expect anything out of the ordinary. I didn't expect to be shocked. I was, though. Mike told me he'd been wrestling with something for quite awhile. He told me he thought he was supposed to be a pastor! I'm glad to tell you I didn't throw a fit. I just mumbled, "Well then, let's go" ... or something along those lines.
OK, maybe that doesn't seem so crazy now because I've known him as a pastor for many years. It doesn't seem strange at all. But that day I was really shocked. Mike was very spiritual and attended church faithfully. His preference, though, was to arrive at the church exactly as the service began and to leave pretty quickly afterward. I certainly never got the idea he was being led to pastor a congregation! Years later Mike's Mom told us his Dad had the idea Mike might someday be a pastor, but I sure never did.
Anyway, this was not Mike's dream. It was a very, very difficult decision but he knew he was being called and he answered the call. I was proud of him for that. At that time he was looking at 7 more years of schooling, not his favorite thing, but he was willing to go. We spent another year on the farm before things were in place for us to leave, but the rest is history now, isn't it?
There you have it. As promised, the story of someone else letting God have control of his life.
